


Underneath the Fallen Snow

by drunkinthemorning



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Granting and denying heat, Killer Frost - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Tension, SnowBarry - Freeform, Thawing and melting sexily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkinthemorning/pseuds/drunkinthemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She found herself at his complete mercy; enthralled by the warmth of his fingers, the igniting flames of his heated caress. Bound and captured; her body betrays her, an unwilling thaw under his calculated touch. But she couldn't push him away; she begs him for more, for when she melts, nothing else comes close to how delightfully warm it feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Barry Allen (Of Earth-3?4?5?10?100?1000?) warming the Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost of Earth 2.
> 
> If I decide to continue, it'll obviously end up as M in the later portions of the story. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, ice puns, ha.

_But underneath the fallen snow,_

_lies a harvest yet to come._

_She was cold, but suddenly no longer._

The cold ebbed at the nearing heat, receding in a cascading flush as the warmth danced across her skin. She raised an arm in his direction, but nothing happened next; she tried once more, but all that remained upon her paled features, were eyes of unbridled confusion.

It was _him_ , he must have done something that prevented her from using her powers.

Caitlin Snow, the villain known as Killer Frost, looked upon the figure that stood before her. She recognized him, Barry Allen, resident librarian of Central City Regional Library – but he wasn't, not exactly. She frequented the library, and she knew _that_ Barry Allen; a skinny nerd more interested in dusty old books than whatever it was that attracted men of his age.

The person that stood in front of her, had the same face, yet was inexplicably different. He towered over her crouching form, a handsome smirk that was unlike the shyness of her world's counterpart.

The Barry Allen of another world was older, and slightly more rugged that the boy in her memories. He was dressed in an expensively tailored suit, dark and accentuating his underneath figure. His hair was neatly combed, and his eyes, of a haunting blue; beautiful, yet perhaps even colder than she was.

She glared at him, there was little else she could do in his overwhelming presence; she might be of ice, but she was frozen completely still, and utterly at his mercy.

"What- What did you do to me?"

"A small concoction of chemicals and drugs, carefully synthesized in my lab," his head tilted curiously, "I collected a sample of the ice you left behind when you attacked my lab's shipment at the docks."

"Imagine my surprise," he smiled, "when I found traces of human DNA in the ice. After that, it's just a matter of dissecting and replicating the cells, then testing them against the different batches of synthesized drugs in order to see which affected you best."

When she did not reply, he kneeled downwards, his face hovering slightly above their eye-level, "Now tell me, woman of ice, why did you steal my Tachyon prototype?"

His fingers latched onto her chin, forcing her to look in his direction, the contact of his hand sending waves of heated pleasure down her neck. She couldn't control herself, the engulfing sensations came so suddenly, it prompted a soft yelp that resembled more of a mewl.

The reaction to his touch was unexpected to say the least, an unforeseen outcome that deeply interested the older scientist. "Astonishing," he muttered, "the drugs must have targeted your system in an unanticipated manner, leaving you much more sensitive and susceptible to heated contact."

"W-what are you talking about," she responded angrily, unamused with her body's reaction. His hand returned to her cheeks, but he did so in a much gentler manner this time round; a lone finger, softly caressing the curves of her jaw. She gasped at the immediate contact, as an electrifying blaze ignited every inch of her, leaving her wanting and breathless.

She fell forward and grasped at the carpeted floors, finding it suddenly impossible to still her trembling fingers. She felt a surging anger rise from within her, emerging through the foreign pleasures that were currently assaulting her every sense. She reached deep within herself, drawing from the coldness of her heart, embracing the chilling ice within; she needed to still her erratic heart.

Yet upon the next stroke of his finger, she felt an instant thawing of her insides, a cracking façade that had her nestling into his touch. There was no denying the attractiveness of this Barry Allen, but her body was not supposed to betray her this way. Not here, not now. She was so close to returning home, all she had to do was to get the Tachyon prototype and Zoom would return her back to her world.

But as he cupped her face with his palms, a striking warmth expanded from within her, spreading quickly to every extremity; her back arched in pleasure, and as her toes dug into the carpets below, everything else disintegrated, and all that remained was the heated pleasure of his touch.

The world was once of ice and white, but now, a shade of vividness, as colors returned to the paleness of her cheeks. He gripped onto her shoulder, but she could neither hear nor comprehend what he asked of her, there was only the spreading warmth, and a delicious hint of pain.

He was still questioning her about the prototype device, but she couldn't concentrate, not with his hands still roughly clamped around her. His grip tightened, and her lips parted as waves of pleasure shot down her breasts; her chest jutted outwards, begging to be touched.

And it was only then, the Barry Allen of this world noticed the effect he had on her. He took an immediate step back, denying her of his body's touch, a playful smile that contrasted her clouding confusion.

"Why did you sto-" She scowled before catching herself; embarrassment flushed her cheeks, along with an undeniable ache that soon surfaced from her heated core.

"Why did I… what?" he smiled.

"I…" she stuttered, his exiting proximity left her once more in a familiar chill, the rawness of ice, growing bitterly inside of her. "I… I… need," but even so, she couldn't bring herself to voice how desperate she was.

He knew exactly what she needed, and he only further tormented her with a smugness that vastly contrasted the Barry Allen of her world, "What do you need?"

"Y-Your... t-touch. Touch me."

When she spoke, he granted her the approach of his palm, yet as he came within close proximity of her trembling form, he retreated, his hands returning behind his back.

She noticed a subconscious growl that came from her throat; he was toying with her.

"Then answer my question," he said, "why did you attempt to steal my Tachyon Proto-–"

Before he could finish his sentence, Caitlin stood back up and threw herself in his direction. Her body collided against his; as powerful arms caught her, preventing her from falling to the ground. She could smell him, a wonderful mix of aftershave and wood. It was intoxicating, and as her lips locked against his, even more so was his taste.

It warmed her, tremendously so; the heat entered from every point of contact; his lips upon hers, her body against his; the fingers that latched onto her wrist, the arm that was across her back. She moaned into his lips, the added warmth was spectacular, and she couldn't help but tremble in his embrace.

There was a flame inside of her, long frozen over in the years since she became Killer Frost. But as Barry Allen recovered from his initial surprise and kissed her back with a renewed intensity, Caitlin Snow felt the return of a long forgotten heat, along with a shuddering climax that resulted from only the touch of his lips. She cried out in pleasure, and as the heat overwhelmed her with a blanketing darkness, only a single thought surfaced before she lost complete consciousness.

_How deliciously warming._

 


	2. Chapter 2

_But underneath the fallen snow,_

_When the autumn colors pass,_

_She feels cold, once more._

When Caitlin regained consciousness the following evening, the first thing she became aware of was the caress of silken blankets upon her still sensitive skin. She laid still for the longest time, wary of her current surroundings, until she gathered the strength required to push herself upwards, emerging from the safety of her warming cocoon. An unfamiliar room came into view; dimly lit and moderately furnished.

As her surroundings came into focus, she noticed the drawn curtains by her side, the warm touch of evening's light seeping through its cracks. Pushing aside the heavy covers, she moved slowly and cautiously out of the bed. She had been asleep for a long time, apparent from the deep indentations that she left on her side of the bed.

"The sleeping beauty rises."

Every single alarm inside her rang instantly in deafening blares. She turned sharply towards the speaker, her muscles tensing as icy adrenaline shot through her veins. It was him, the Barry Allen of another world. He sat across from her, half shrouded by the evening shadows; and suddenly, everything else came back to her.

His touch, his lips, his warmth. The memories assaulted her in a tumultuous frenzy, as images of the night before came rushing back; his heated embrace, the burning trails he left upon her skin. She flushed pink, in a mixture of both anger and embarrassment.

Her fingers clenched frustratedly, but like before, she found herself still unable to conjure the frigid ice that she sought to wield.

"What is this?" she demanded. "Where am I?"

"At my place, in my room," he answered casually, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "When you fell unconscious the other night, I couldn't exactly bring you to the hospital, and I wasn't interested in involving the local authorities, not that they were well equipped to handle cases like yours."

"I couldn't just leave you there, and when I checked your vitals, I quickly found out that you weren't in much danger," he shrugged lightly, "just exhausted, so I gave you a chance to rest."

She took a long look at the bed before her eyes returned to him, "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" he asked impassively, his every intention shielded by his immutable form.

"You want something from me," she replied stiffly, "or I wouldn't be alive still, you could have killed me or-"

"Killed you?" he laughed, "now, why would I want to kill you?"

"Because I tried to steal your Tachyon prototype."

"That is hardly a reason for wanting to take your life," he chuckled, "but I am still curious as to your intentions, what exactly are your reasons for targeting my device?" He thought for a second, "I don't think its industrial espionage, if Oliver Queen wanted my inventions, he would have done so in a more subtle manner. Attacking my shipment in broad daylight? You were anything but subtle."

She glared at him, but did not bother confirming his suspicions.

"And your powers, are they called powers?" he exclaimed, "to generate ice out of thin air, how marvelous."

"Reverse what you've done to me," she hissed, "and I'll show you how marvelous they are."

He smiled, "Tempting offer, but unfortunately, for my own safety, I'll have to decline your offer, Caitlin."

Her name stopped her completely in her tracks, "How- How..?"

"Your name?" he quipped, "it was quite a coincidence. I collected a sample of your DNA while you were unconscious to run some tests on, but imagine my surprise, when your DNA matches someone we already have in our database." He leaned forward in his seat, eyes meticulously studying her every reaction, "Now imagine my bigger surprise, when I visited your last known address, and met Mrs. Snow at the door."

His hands clasped together, "Now while you two bear a striking resemblance, even twins don't have 100% exact matches on their genetic markers. You're either a clone… or something else."

"I am not a clone," she snarled.

"So what the hell are you, Caitlin Snow?"

She shrank away instinctively as he took a step in her direction, feeling her back soon coming against the wall behind. Trapped between him and the exit, there was little she could do but to mentally prepare herself for his next move.

She wasn't expecting him to approach her in such an assertive manner, the heat of his nearing frame strongly powering over her as she tried sinking further away but to no avail. Her fingers grasped futilely around her, but there was nothing she could use to her advantage. His hand pressed into the wall beside her face, his own leaning towards her; the warmth was a familiar one, redolent of the night before.

She could feel his every exhale; a warm caress over her trembling skin, a pleasurable wave that expanded from its point of contact, quickly spreading to the edges of her fingers and toes. Her palms pressed against his chest, an attempt to push him away; but as she did, his hands drifted to her hips, the abrupt intrusion of heat sending her into a sharp inhale. A weakening dizziness swarmed entirely over her, and she found her legs suddenly unresponsive; the hands that sought to push him away, now held weakly onto him for support

From the palms that pushed against his chest, she could feel the soft thump of his every heartbeat, but her thoughts were quickly obliterated by the upward slide of his hands; they left hot hand prints along their every trail, leaving her trembling and desperate for more.

An arm slid around her back, another latching firmly onto her hips, leaving reddened marks that burned with a delightful twang. He pulled her close; she could barely resist, their bodies touching, creating an overwhelming warmth that had her whimpering in its unbearable aftermath, a torrential wave she could no longer deny.

Her body no longer responded to saner thoughts, gone were those that wanted to push him away, to escape from his grasp; only those of further contact remained, and however hard she tried, they nagged persistently at the back of her mind, a growing ache that shot irresistibly down her spine.

Her shirt was hiked upwards by the glide of his hand, and as she felt the initial contact of naked flesh upon flesh, waves of insufferable heat tore through her remaining barriers, completely annihilating her defenses, sending her into uncontrolled gasps of helpless pleasure; her lips parted in a moan, and he caught hers with his.

Unlike the night before, their embrace was not done in an urgent haste, but a soft mingling of lips as her fingers scrunched into his clothing; the warmth engulfed her in tiny ripples, her thighs instinctively clamping shut as she melted further into his arms.

_Beeeeep_

She had not noticed the interrupting beeps of his intercom system until a moment later.

_Mr. Allen, you're needed in your office._

The heat dissipated upon their separation; he took a step back, a finger brushing against the bottom of his lip.

"I…" she muttered, before regaining a little bit more of her composure, "office? I thought we were at your place."

"We are," he replied as a matter-of-factly, "my penthouse is on the top floor of my office building. The perks of being a successful scientist slash businessman."

Before she could reply, he stepped forward and caught her face in his hands, dragging her forward as their lips crushed for a final time, her initial hesitancy again overwritten by the emerging sensations, his lips a wanting linger upon hers before their final divide.

And just like that, the Barry Allen of another world was gone, to whatever it was that required his attention, leaving Caitlin alone with the heated indentations of his lasting touch.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_But underneath the fallen snow,_

_By the frost upon the ground._

_She is trapped, uncertainly._

She needed time, a lot of it; to think, to consider and contemplate her next move. Her first was to pull the drawn curtains apart, revealing the ebbing glow of evening's light upon the endless stretch of Central City's skyline. The Barry Allen of this world was not lying about them being on the top floor of his office building, everything else seemed smaller from up here, even the clouds that hung alongside for company.

She was left alone and it meant that she was safe for now, but she couldn't stay inside the room forever; especially if it meant that he was coming back. She had to find a way out, to escape from this Barry Allen, but it wasn't as simple as climbing out of the window, not from such a height. Creaking the door slightly ajar, she tiptoed into the empty corridor, her head curiously peeking around the corners, noticing a flight of stairs that led downwards into where she assumed the living room was.

Her naked soles pressed softly into the carpeted floors as she quietly inched the door shut behind her. She might not have a fully-fledged plan, but her objectives were simple enough; she just needed to find a way out, there must be an exit, an elevator that led to the levels below. Barry Allen might have been able to suppress her powers, but she wasn't completely helpless, she wasn't the usual damsel in distress.

It took harsher circumstances and conditions for a child to grow into someone as broken as she was; her childhood was rough, and it only made her as tough as ice. She could defend herself if need be.

But as she crept slowly down the stairs, he emerged from the other end, completely foiling her plans to escape undetected. She paused in her movements, a mixture of surprise and unpreparedness; she was completely stuck, and had no idea how to react to his presence.

While she stood like a deer caught in headlights, he on the other hand, was a lot more at ease; in a way that was almost too casual, as though he was waiting for her appearance the entire time. His gaze landed on her, his face an immutable blankness. He had changed out of his earlier casualwear, clad instead in an impeccable suit that vastly accentuated his lean frame. It was well-tailored and from the looks of it, quite expensive.

They were still for the longest time, observing one another in silence, as though each waiting for the other to make their first move. He seemed like he just came out of a brief business meeting, and she couldn't deny how good he looked in that suit. He was in no way similar to the clumsy and awkward Barry Allen of her world. This Barry brimmed with confidence; a man who knew perfectly well how to carry himself.

"That was fast." She took a step down, her hands gripping nervously onto the railings, betraying her otherwise cool exterior. "Whatever it was that required your attention."

"I just had to sign a few papers," he smiled, "it could have been done through emails, but you know, some people just prefer having things done in person. It's more formal."

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving, blocking her path.

She avoided his stare, glancing past him and coming upon a pair of heavyset doors that led undoubtedly outside. She half contemplated making a run for it, but the saner portions of her mind won that argument. In her many years as Killer Frost, she had evolved from a simple thug to something of an experienced villain, with plenty of thievery in her arguably large portfolio.

She knew there were going to be complications and contingencies she had to account for. The doors might have been locked; the elevator controls might be linked to biometric sensors; there could be armed guards outside. Either way, there were dozens of possibilities that could lead to her timely demise. And while her host still seemed hospitable, there was no reason for her to challenge him directly, at least not until she found herself in a better position to escape.

For now, she would play into his hands.

If he had noticed her trailing gaze, his comments were kept to himself, instead motioning to the grand space by their side.

"Join me," he asked in an almost polite manner, "for dinner."

Again, it was done so in a way that said little of their current situation, but instead as though they were friends or acquaintances. He walked ahead, without waiting to see if she would follow.

They entered a lavish living space; cozy interior design with upholstered furniture, there was no doubt he lived in luxury, and the man was seemingly unafraid in flaunting his assets. They moved to a dining table at the back of the living room, next to a window with drawn curtains that revealed much of the world that revolved below them.

He took a seat by one end of the mahogany table; not having any other choice, she found herself seated by the other, an uncomfortable squirm at the quiet atmosphere.

She remained apprehensive of his true intentions, refusing to lower her guard for even the slightest of a second. Underneath the table, she gripped tightly onto the edge of her chair, uneasily waiting for his next move.

"How are you feeling?" he suddenly asked.

It wasn't a question she expected, there held no concern in his tone, but his intentions were clear, he was curious as to her well-being. She was about to retort sarcastically when she heard the soft rumbles of her stomach, it had been more than a day since she last ate, his timing for the invitation to dinner was impeccable.

"Better," she replied. "No thanks to you."

"I was the one who nursed you back to health."

"You got me there in the first place, with whatever it was that you did to me," she snarled.

"While that was partly my fault, it's more of your body's natural reaction than a side effect of my drug," he explained. "The overwhelming heat that you feel, it is not from the power-dampeners that I've injected you with, but a part of your organic physiology." He paused for a moment, searching for the correct terms. "It's quite simple actually, it all boils down to the transference of energy. Your body is inertly at a chilling low, and the transfer of heat from another source is absorbed upon contact, but as a form of energy."

His face lit up, clearly delighted at his findings. "Before, you were able to absorb heat as a source of energy, but without your powers, there is nothing to moderate the flow of heat, you are unable to lessen nor control the amount that enters you. Thus the overwhelming of heat."

"It feels amazing doesn't it?" he asked with scientific intent, "when you're enveloped by the heat."

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I…" the words remained caught in her throat, an annoying lump she was unable to rid. She couldn't even bring herself to insult him because of how right he was; the sensations that emerged upon his touch, they were humiliating, but she craved them, like an addict, even now.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said, "it's a natural reaction."

Her hands slammed onto the table, the chair screeching as she stood straight up.

He looked amusedly at her. "Did I say something wrong?"

She ignored his question, but replied with one of her own. "Am I a prisoner, Mr. Allen?"

"You are not."

"Then I am leaving the premises." She turned and took a step towards the exit. But she barely managed a few steps when an unbearable explosion of heat emerged from her skull and traveled down her neck. A forceful shudder that brought her down to her knees, as a paralyzing flush of pain tore through her insides. It consumed her relentlessly, her mouth ajar as she struggled to breathe, the blaze of unbridled agony leaving her a trembling mess, curled up on the carpeted floor.

It was unlike the pleasurable warmth of before, but an incessant burst of torment; not warmth, but a scorching blister that had her tearing at her skin. It lasted seconds, but it felt like forever before it ended.

Afterwards, she was vaguely aware of his approaching presence, her vision blocked by the painful tears that occurred. There was nothing she could do but shiver weakly beneath him, her breaths in short erratic bursts.

He kneeled down before her, his hands lightly cupping her face. She tried to pull away, but her body was otherwise incapacitated, barely recovering from its previous ordeal. "Caitlin, I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, "you are my guest, but even so, there are boundaries to be set."

His finger stroked lightly against her cheek, a comfortable anchor in midst of a painful turmoil. "I promise not to harm you without reason, but until I find out what you are, and who sent you after my Tachyon prototype, you have to abide nicely by my rules."

The finger trailed around the back of her head, resting just at the bottom of her skull. "The device was surgically sewn underneath your skin while you were unconscious, it allows me to tap into your nervous system, giving it an extreme jolt with an intensity of my choosing. Kind of like a shock collar, but instead of electricity…" He did not need to finish his sentence, they both knew what he was implying.

She was sweating, and he lightly dabbed at her forehead, before curling a stray strand of brown behind her ear. "Until then, you are not allowed to leave. Am I clear?"

She nodded, and for a moment, she was even more so afraid of him than of Zoom.

But the gentle waves of pleasure that emanated from the hand that rested on her neck, she wanted him to never let go.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today's episode of Flash. Finally, after so long, there's a tiny Snowbarry moment. It reminded me a little of their initial development during season one, and I truly do miss their little moments.
> 
> A thing to note: The Caitlin and Barry of this story, is not the Caitlin and Barry that we know. It's the Caitlin of Earth-2, and a Barry of another world. So their lives, personalities and differences, varies quite a bit.
> 
> The Caitlin we know, is gentle and kind. Killer Frost is more... cold. Remember, not only does she not bat an eyelid when she kills, she actually enjoys it.
> 
> This Barry, well, he's a little older than her. A few years older, more rugged, handsome. The Barry we know, he grew up surrounded by love, and it's what turned him into the great man we know today. This Barry, he grew up alone, he did not experience the love that Earth-1 Barry experienced.

_But underneath the fallen snow,_

_Through the season's hourglass_

_She sees her future, of warmth and of cold._

When Caitlin eventually recovered from the unbearable blaze of heat, he was the one that helped her up from the floor. An arm looped around her shoulder, muscles ripping beneath his clothing as he lifted her onto her feet without much effort. She stumbled slightly, hands grabbing instinctively onto him for balance while his wrapped gently around her, keeping her still and safe.

His touch was gentle, with a hint of tenderness unlike before; but he was still the reason for her initial collapse, regardless of how kind and bipolar his actions now were.

They moved back to the dining table, and he held the chair out for her to slide into before taking his own. Afterwards, she sat there silently, an arm clasped tightly over the back of her neck where it still lightly burned, an uncomfortable presence she couldn't rid. They were still for the longest time; she refused to meet his eyes, and he was staring intently in her direction, observing like a scientist studying a newly discovered microbe.

"I am not your… little science project." She wanted to snarl at him, but her voice ended up a pathetic crack, resembling the weak mewing of a helpless kitten. In a way, it felt like a correct analogy of their current situation, with her being reduced to such a pitiful and demure state.

She certainly deserved the karma, Caitlin wasn't a saint, but the complete opposite of one. She had her fair share of dropped bodies, and sometimes, she even enjoyed the chaos that she brought forth. She knew her 'career' wasn't something that would last forever, and she often fantasized about the way she would ultimately go down, often in a final bout of freezing glory. But this situation she had gotten herself in – being turned into Barry Allen's prisoner, it was something she could have never predicted.

"You are not just a little science project."

She hated how different their tones were; hers seethed with fury, but his was calm and reasonable. The way he emphasized on the word _little_ , further infuriated her, and it was only even more so maddening how there was nothing she could do but to endure his torment. She had thought about clawing the chip out, but she had no idea how deeply it was embedded into her skin, or how it would affect her if ripped violently out; and the risk of suffering once more from that heat, she shuddered at that very thought.

"You are a guest as well, and I treat my guests well," he said.

Before she could think of a sarcastic response, she was interrupted by the swinging of kitchen doors, as an aromatic wave of deliciousness descended upon her. Her stomach grumbled hungrily in response, and Caitlin was once again reminded of how ravenously hungry she was.

The cutleries were already prepared from before, and the chef arrived with two additional plates. The man wasted no time in lifting their covers and unveiling his magnificent work. The smell assaulted her, a salivating mix of garlic and lemon. A fish of some sort, beautifully presented, rustic, as though freshly caught and prepared from a seaside town.

Barry Allen nodded at the chef. "Thank you, Cisco."

The man bowed and made his exit.

There was something vaguely familiar about the man, he reminded her of a villain she once worked with from her world. But it was too long ago and she wasn't good with faces, not that her brain worked particularly well in front of such delicious food.

"Eat."

She had thought of further defying him, to at least show a bit more resistance and not comply entirely to his command. But what was the point, they both knew he had the complete upper hand, she wasn't about to make herself suffer unnecessarily just to show her rebellious streak. She could do so later on, at least that was what she told herself.

She tore hungrily into the prepared food while he greeted his meal with a contrasting sophistication. He ate as if he was attending a formal dinner, with sliced pieces and tiny mouthfuls; while she ravaged her meal like a famished caveman, without a care as to her appearance and presentation. She was done before he was even halfway through, and as though noticing the way her eyes trailed over his remaining meal, Barry Allen flicked his fingers, and another serving was delivered to her in no time.

She approached the meal a little slower this time round, taking a long moment to savor its exquisite taste. The meat was beyond tender, the spices mixing as they all melted in her mouth in a glorious mix of wonderment. Before long, she was finished with her seconds, and he was done with his.

Standing up, Barry Allen headed to the side of the room before returning with a bottle of wine and two empty glasses.

"Come with me," he asked rhetorically.

She followed him as they headed back into the living room space, traversing the large area before he unlocked the doors to the outside balcony. They stepped outside into the cool evening air, the wind quickly sending her whitened locks into a frenzied spin.

She pulled her hair together as they stopped by the railing's edge, watching the settling sun drifting slowly in the horizon, as the world revolved exhaustedly below them. He poured each of them a glass of the darkened liquid, a soft swirl of the wine before he brought it up to his lips.

She accepted the glass without complaints, and while he took a slow long sip, she drowned the entire cup whole with a single gulp.

When she noticed the way he was looking at her, she blurted out. "What?"

He was certainly amused. "That is a fifteen thousand dollar bottle of wine."

She held out the glass. "You can afford more, pour me another."

He complied, and she felt slightly victorious; he still held the upper-hand in their uncomfortable relationship, but as long as her resolve remained fiery, every victory, no matter how small, is still a victory. If her defiance came as a form of snarky remarks and the ability to waste his money, then so be it.

A few glasses and half a bottle later however, she was clearly starting to regret her decision. There was a pink flush across her pale cheeks and she felt a little off-balance, as though her knees were not agreeing with the other. It struck her at that moment that perhaps a ten thousand dollar bottle of wine had a stronger effect than the usual cheap brands she would normally drink.

"It is beautiful isn't it?"

His voice was soft, and for some reason (she blamed the wine), it made her legs even woozier than before.

She nodded, the panoramic view of Central City certainly was exquisite.

He reached for her glass, gently nudging it out of her grip and placing it onto the table behind them. "I think you've had enough." His voice was firmer now. "I don't want you to accidentally drop the glass and impaling an unfortunate passerby."

He was considerate too, how annoying. She turned away, her footsteps uneven. She raised an arm towards him, indicating that his help was not required. The two of them headed back into the living room, the outside atmosphere evaporating as the balcony doors were closed behind them.

"What now?" she glared at him, purposely keeping an even distance between both.

"It is getting late." He gestured in the direction she previously came from. "I will show you to your room."

She hung close to the walls as they headed in that direction. The railings were admittedly more than useful in her current state. As they arrived at the top floor, she spun around to face him, only to realize that the world did not stop spinning when she did. She tripped over her own feet and fell backwards, suspended without gravity for a single horrifying second before she found herself colliding softly against him.

Barry Allen caught her from behind, his arms wrapped safely around her own, his intruding heat a familiar blaze of grudging pleasure.

She struggled against his grip. "What are you doin-"

His grip tightened; the flames grew warmer, and her lips parted in a soundless whimper. She knew she would have fallen without him, so she stopped struggling, amidst other more pleasurable reasons.

"You know, there are reasons why that particular brand is so expensive," his voice was a soothing whisper, a light caress upon her reddened ears. "One such reason being that they're made with a rare strain of berries that holds at least five times the alcoholic content than those made with normal fermented grapes."

She groaned frustratedly, allowing him to guide them up the last few steps, before slipping away from his arms at the first chance she found. They eventually arrived at the guest room, which was opposite to his own. She turned the doorknob, wanting nothing more than a moment alone to clear her head, but his hand was suddenly on hers, hooking onto her wrist and pulling her back.

She found herself pressed up against the wall once more, his hands on either side of her, pinning her helplessly still. Her breath caught, and she looked away, trying to will herself into ignoring the emerging sensations.

His head tilted downwards, mouth inches to the left of her own. "You're drunk. It means your metabolism is working in a similar fashion as an average female." He was talking science again, but his tone was lower, muskier, it sent chills along her core.

His lips moved upwards, and he breathed lightly into her ear, "I wonder… what else is similar."

She pushed forward, trying to escape from underneath him, but the hand that wrapped around her wrist still had her in a firm grasp. He shoved her back, slamming her roughly against the wall behind. The pain was a dull throb, smothered by the heated pleasures that flushed persistently through her every fibre.

She looked up, and his dark eyes burned deeply into hers.

His body closed the space between both, his lips sealing hers in a feverous kiss. The erupting flames overwhelmed her, melting her into quick submission, her hands falling limply to her side. She surrendered to him, allowing herself to float along the warming currents, guided by nothing but his warmth.

His hands were everywhere; her cheeks, her neck, her hips, her breasts.

She moaned into the kiss, her body trembling as his hand curved around the side of her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her clothing, resuming its original path before they were so rudely interrupted this afternoon. A hand cupped around the side of her neck, holding her still while the other climbed from beneath her clothing, leaving heated trails as he curved along the fabric of her undergarment.

Her thighs clamped together in response, and she was suddenly aware of how desperately she needed him. Everything else faded away, except the growing ache between her legs, it was chilling, and she needed his heat.

Their lips parted, she inhaled deeply, preparing for his return.

But it never came. She blinked, and he was a step back. Another blink, and he had returned to where he stood before.

"Goodnight, Caitlin Snow."

He smiled, the door closed, and the Barry Allen of this world was no more.

She slumped weakly to the ground, cursing the mess she had found herself in. _Caitlin Snow_ , she hated how it reminded her of the past, of her weaker self. But between his seductive whispers and his calculated touch, she wanted nothing more than to hear him growl her name.

 


End file.
